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Thursday, October 22, 2015

Almost nothing

While the garden mostly fallows, I have been broadening out my activities a bit. There are many new poems at Collected Poems and some new observations at Journal of a Zenista, but these are sit-down activities.

The main effort has been to walk more, for which there are a lot of attractive opportunities close by. Every day, of course, there is walking the dog, and sometimes I take him with me to places that interest us both;





he is game, but getting older fast. I'm beginning to need to go more places than he can, and so I offer him a treat and he must wait, anguished, for me to return. It's hard for him, these separations, but the immense joy he displays at my return is some compensation, I trust.

The longest drive I permit myself for these jaunts is to the place where my parents' ashes rest. For that, and other journeys closer by, I look for someone to go with me, as my bones, like Toto's are becoming brittle.




Only twelve miles from here there is a National Recreation Trail. Following a stream closely through old growth stands, it provides whatever length journey one wishes, simply by turning around at an agreed-upon time and doubling back. Views are as fresh coming as going.




On this last hike, five wooden bridges, one of which was a simple log with the top side adzed flat, added contemplative opportunities rife with the symbolism of transition. "Taking nothing but pictures, leaving nothing but footprints," we arrived, passed through and among, and were gone, with almost nothing remaining behind to indicate we were ever here.

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